


Blessed Are They

by LuthienLuinwe



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Catholicism, Father Todd, Gen, Jason Todd is a Priest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/pseuds/LuthienLuinwe
Summary: Or: seven times Father Jason interacted with members of his family.





	1. They Who Mourn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kuro49](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/gifts).



> Thank you to all who have enabled me to write this fic. Kuro, I hope you enjoy it.

**Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.**

He heard the door creak open and perked up from where he sat. The room was dimly lit, a few candles on either side of the screen adding a certain bit of ambience to the space. Light from the church proper filtered in as the door opened, and Jason fought the urge to glance over at the screen. Not that he would be able to see who the person on the other side of it was properly anyway.

He heard the door shut, followed by footsteps, a slight shuffling noise, and a deep breath.

He waited in silence for the person on the other side of the screen to speak.   


“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” A male voice. Jason knew it well, though he would never betray the confidence and anonymity of this room. Of this rite. No matter how well he knew the person. Or thought he did.

Dick had never been a religious man, at least from what Jason had seen growing up. But something must have happened in recent times for him to begin attending confession, even if he did not attend mass.

“It has been one week since my last confession.”

Jason shut his eyes and fought the urge to step outside the screen. It was not as if Dick didn’t know who he was speaking to, or even that Jason knew. But somewhere along the line, Dick must have made a decision that this was easier than trying to speak with Jason face to face. That this was easier than seeking help from Bruce or Babs or any of the others.

“Someone I thought was dead… He came back.” Jason took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He’d heard about that, though he hadn't gotten the details. Perks of being out of that life. Or at least as far out of it as he was going to get. A nagging feeling in the back of his head told him ‘once a Bat, always a Bat.’

He’d never be completely away from it. Not as long as he was in Gotham.

But he couldn’t just up and leave the only life he’d ever really known. The only people who had ever given a damn about him… Especially not now. Not when Dick had suddenly seemed to decide that Father Todd of Saint Ignatious the Martyr was the only one he could confide in. The only one he could trust.

“And all I can do is wish he stayed dead.”

When Jason had heard his parishioners gossiping about Bruce Wayne’s mysterious disappearance, he hadn't wanted to believe it. Though the rumors of his disappearance barely held a candle to the rumors surrounding his return. He’d returned from the dead. He was Bruce Wayne’s long lost twin brother. It was a convincing look-alike. Bruce Wayne had been dead for decades… The rumors went on and on.

Dick went silent, and Jason did not press him to speak further. Dick would speak when he was ready to. If he was ever ready to. And if not, Jason would assign penance that he doubted Dick would do, they would recite the Act of Contrition, and they would move on with their lives until the next time Dick appeared behind the screen.

“God, I wish he’d stayed dead.”

Jason sighed and pressed his hand up against the screen, fighting every urge in him to emerge from his side and embrace the man he’d once looked up to. Idolized.  _ Replaced.  _

Dick was silent a moment longer, and Jason was confident he’d heard more rustling behind the screen. Maybe he’d left before they could finish… Whatever the hell it was they’d been doing.   


It wasn’t a confession, not really. Dick didn’t believe in the spiritual. Or at least, Jason doubted he did.   


But it was still something deep, intimate.

“Tell me what to do, Jay,” Dick spoke, voice barely above a whisper. But what could Jason tell him that would help? Ten ‘Hail Mary’s? A ‘Glory Be’? It wasn’t like DIck would say them, and it wasn’t like Jason would be able to force him to.

Besides.

He wasn’t here to counsel. He was here to forgive. At least for now.

He shut his eyes and let his hand fall back into his lap. He took a breath and tried to  _ think.  _ They hadn't covered this in seminary. What to do when your sort-of brother was a vigilante and your father figure had a nasty habit of disappearing and manipulating. They didn’t cover what to do if someone died and came back because no one had  _ done it before. _

He’d come close.

He had come so close to death in that warehouse in Ethiopia. And when Bruce had found him battered and broken and bloody and bruised, Jason had vowed no more. No more Robin. No more crime fighting. No more pretending to be the hero he knew he’d never be. No more.

But Dick had chosen his own path, and Jason could not fault him for it. It was not his place to.

They had both made choices.

He was certain neither of them fully understood the choice the other had made.

But that was a problem for another day.

He took another breath before opening his eyes and folding his hands in his lap. “Let us pray.”

What else could he suggest they do?  



	2. Those Who Hunger and Thirst for Righteousness

**Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.**

His parish was small, at least by comparison to most of those within the Archdiocese of Gotham. He had always liked the smaller churches, though. Easier to get to know everyone and their families. To share in their joy and in their sorrow. The building was situated on the edge of the Narrows. It wasn’t showy like the massive campus of Our Lady of Peace situated near Wayne Manor, but he was fine with it. They had what they needed. A chapel, a parish hall, an office, a cemetery, and a place for him to sleep. What more was there?

There was something peaceful about his church at night. He had always found peace in watching the candle flames flicker against Mary’s feet. Occasionally he could hear the building creak, though strange noises had never bothered him too much.

He bowed before the altar as he passed it, frowning when he heard an uncommon noise from behind him.   


“Shouldn’t you be fighting crime?” he asked without turning around. He may have chosen this vocation, but he had been Robin once. Some training never truly left.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” the voice asked, and only then did Jason turn to face him. Bruce was dressed in the batsuit, though the cowl was down. And why not? It was not as though many people came into the church at this hour of the night. Not that Jason would have turned anyone away.

The Narrows were safer than Crime Alley, but not by much. He had once been the scared child with nowhere to go. He’d be damned if he turned away anyone needing a warm place to spend the night.

“I vaguely remember Alfred mentioning something about old habits once or twice,” Jason answered. He took a moment to take Bruce in. The last time he’d seen the man had been just before Bruce had, well, died. He had lost contact with most of the Batfamily before then. But after?   


It was amazing what tragedy could do to bring a group together.

“Forgive my surprise,” Jason continued. “It’s been my understanding that you were…”  _ Dead. Gone. Not coming back.  _ “No longer with us.”

He watched Bruce sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose, leaning slightly against one of the pews. “You have every right to hate me.”

Jason shook his head at that. It was not his place to hate or to judge what Bruce had done. What anyone had done. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. “You made a mistake,” he spoke, voice clear and concise, not unlike the one he used when dealing with a parishioner who was… Less than pleasant. “We all do. What’s done is done. We cannot change the past.”

Bruce nodded his head slowly, and Jason bit back the urge to snap at him. Had he come here to make Jason feel better? Or himself?

A silence fell over them, though Jason didn’t mind. And if Bruce was uncomfortable? He didn’t let it show.   


In the end, it was Bruce who broke the silence. “Black suits you.”

Jason fought the smile that threatened him, tugging at the corner of his mouth and bubbling in his chest. He had found a peace he hadn't known he was capable of in choosing this life. Or rather, in this life choosing him.

_ Black suits you. _

The words echoed in his head even long after Bruce had left. Even long after Jason had said his evening prayers and gone off to bed.

_ Red and green never did. _


End file.
